New job means new commute means new things to see. This commute is a lot shorter, so there’s only two blocks between work and the BART. I may pull a “Bruce Davidson”:http://www.magnumphotos.com/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult&ALID=2K7O3RJSJ42A&VBID=2K1HZSWEPT8V&PN=1 and shoot on the BART. Although, to be honest, my day to day isn’t nearly that gritty. SF in the 2010s is nothing next to NY in the 80s if the photos are evidence of anything.
This was all a big drunken blur. So, I’m going to use this space to thank a bunch of people that may or may not have been thanked yet. Thanks to Marylyn and Richard, who hosted the wedding at their house, and to Sophie’s mom, who cooked and held things to the plan on the day of, including getting the reception set up. Thanks to our friend Jessica Lothrop for doing the catering at the reception. Thanks to everyone who brought cakes, drinks, and themselves to both events. I know some people travelled pretty far to get there, and I really appreciate it. Sophia, in classic style, has a list of all the people, and the thank-you cards are gradually going out. This thing wouldn’t have been as much of a success without evry one who came along for the ride. So thanks.
For most people this isn’t news. If you’re someone in the far future reading this, if it’s somehow survived without any of the social media to give it context: I’m madly in love with this woman, and I’m really glad that she puts up with me. That day, I got up and drove to lawton with two of my best friends in the world, one who was officiating and one who was going to be “best man” even though she wasn’t a man. Sophie’s aunt and uncle provided a venue for us; they have a lovely house of their own design, and a beautiful garden out back. I said some really sappy, meaningful things that I’d struggled to write the night before, got a little choked up, and she made up her vows on the spot. Tim said some great stuff that I don’t remember, and we were pronounced husband and wife. Then there was drinking and mingling, and cake cutting. The whole thing was perfect.
So, in September, I went back to OK for a week to get hitched. Can I say how weird it was to be back? Going home is weird, because it’s not even home anymore. Home is a moving target of associations, friends, places I sleep, places I go out to, and all the things that are normal. The way I get up in the morning and take the train. The way my shower works. There are ten thousand little things which make up ‘home’. Anyway, enough blather. PHOTOS:
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